


Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

by snakeling



Category: New Amsterdam
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Omar likes to associate his father to the happy events in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [donutsweeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/gifts).



> Thanks to my two betas, for stepping up to the plate on short notice.

“You planning to switch identities any time soon?”

John had been vaguely aware of people leaving as the bar closed. He’d scattered the various files of his latest case across the table in the corner, trying to make sense of the few clues they had. Not really listening, he let out an interrogative noise.

“John!”

He started, pulled out of his concentration. “What? I wasn’t listening.”

“So I see.” Omar raised his eyebrows. When had they gotten so white? “Interesting case?”

John sat back and stretched his aching back. Would that immortality took care of the little pains!

“Not as such. We have so little to go on, we’ll probably never find who did it. Random mugging that turned bad, nothing personal about it, so there’s no point in learning about the victim. Still. Murder’s murder, and we have to look into it. And who knows? Maybe we can get lucky.”

“Link it with other crimes through the weapon?”

John grimaced. “Wasn’t a gun. Actually, it was a perfectly ordinary kitchen knife. Nothing to learn, there.”

He started putting back the files into the manila folder, carefully preserving the original order.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

“Yes.” Omar settled across from John.

“Are you planning to switch identities soon? Ditch the police officer and become someone else?”

“Not right now. I’ve been John Amsterdam for a little over ten years now and I can keep at it for at least four or five years yet. Maybe even more, now that both Eva and Burnett know.” He hadn’t precisely planned on telling them, then, but he’d become quite glad that he had, over the years. Certainly it had smoothed things with Eva, once she’d realized he wasn’t actually winding her up.

“Clean living, healthy food and restful nights. That should explain it, especially for a police detective.”

John shared a conspiratorial grin with Omar.

“More seriously, I like the job and I don’t want to let go yet. I won’t be able to come back to it for at least twenty or thirty years after I leave. Though I could join the FBI, I suppose.”

“I’d prefer if you remained Amsterdam for the foreseeable future. Possibly until I’m... gone. I don’t want you to disappear.”

John felt the blood drain from his face and a stone settle in his stomach. “Omar? Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Oh, no, no. Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

John slumped in his chair. “Don’t frighten me like that, my heart can’t take it. Omar, in this day and age, you can hope to live at least twenty more years. I suppose I can keep this identity for that long. I did a stint as a film make-up artist in the 30s.”

“Sorry,” Omar repeated. “You realize that I’m seventy? Twice as old as you were when you died. And life expectancy for African Americans is only 73 years.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to drop dead when you reach 73,” John protested. “It’s an average. And you’re in good health, and if you get sick, you know I can give you enough money for treatment without jumping through hoops.” How on earth had they come to discuss such a morbid subject?

“I know, Dad. Of course I know.” They shared a smile, then Omar took a deep breath. “Well, I have something I need to tell you, but it’s good news, at least I hope.”

“After the fright you gave me, it can only be good.”

Omar slid a picture toward him. His son was sitting on a bench, a huge smile on his face, his arm round a woman John didn’t know. She was Asian American and tiny, especially next to Omar. Her smile was as wide as his. They held each other close, their heads leaning together, looking at the camera with pure happiness.

John smiled. Omar had taken the death of his wife hard, and as far as John knew, in the fourteen years since, he hadn’t even had a girlfriend. It seemed that had changed recently.

He handed back the photography. “Who’s she?”

“Lucy Kuroda. She’s a doctor at Lenox Hill. She works in emergency. I met her when Corey broke his leg last year.” He laughed. “She saw to Corey’s leg and flirted with me at the same time.”

“You dog,” he said, grinning. He sobered. “Is it serious, then?”

“Yeah. Very. Haven’t you noticed? I haven’t been gambling for months now.”

Omar had started gambling after Ella’s death, that was true. “I don’t keep such a close eye on your activities. You’re an adult, you know.”

Omar snorted. “Quite. I haven’t felt the need. Lucy, she fulfills something in me. Not like Ella. I mean, I’ll love her, always, but. For the first time I think I can love someone else.”

“Yeah,” John said wryly. “For all of the shaman’s talk of true love, I’ve found that you can actually love several times, and it’s just as strong every time.” After the severe disappointment of a few years back, he’d given up on looking for his true love. Omar had been right, too. If there was only one woman for him, where did that leave all the ones he’d loved, including Omar’s mother, Lily?

Omar nodded. “I’d like for you two to meet. I won’t tell her, of course. But both of you are some of the most important people in my life, and it wouldn’t be right to keep you separate.”

“I’d love to meet her.” John made a split second decision. “And if you want to, you can tell her. If you trust her, I can trust her too.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He laughed. “Well, I don’t know how I’m going to tell her, though. She’ll think me mad.”

“One of the wonders of modern age,” John said as he got up, “is the availability of photography. Stay here.”

He ducked inside his room, going to the boxes where he knew he’d find what he was looking for: the photo album he and Lily had started when Omar was born. He took it back to his son, who opened it at the first picture. He was a few days old, in this, tucked inside Lily’s arms, with John wrapped around both of them, looking as young as ever. It was slightly yellowed with age.

“I’m in a lot of those pictures. Unless you’ve spent considerable time on Photoshop, it should be proof enough.”

Omar was turning the pages, watching himself grow. His first day in school. His first trumpet lesson. Graduation. Gigs, alone or with others. Marriage. A few with Hallie, and later with Corey. Smiling, laughing. Happy.

The last few were very recent.

“You keep it updated.”

“Of course I do. I always do.”

That caught Omar’s attention. “You have some of my brothers and sisters?”

“Em and Rosie mostly. I’ve got a couple of Nicky, but by the time I bought my first camera, he’d left for the West.”

Omar nodded. “I’d love to see them sometimes.”

“Whenever you want.”

John slid his chair closer to Omar. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the photos and reminiscing. After a long moment, Omar cleared his throat and took out the picture of him and Lucy again. “I’ve got another copy of that one. I’d love for you to have this one.”

John smiled. He tugged the album to himself and turned to the very last page. Tucked in the cover was an envelop, from which he took four photo corners. Skillfully, he fixed the picture on the first blank page.

They both looked at it.

“I hope you can get many more of us.”

John wrapped his arm around Omar’s shoulders and kissed him on the side of his head, taking comfort in the familiar scent. “So do I, my son. So do I.”


End file.
